hoodrats & guttersnipes with a hint of burlesque
i pulled on my scarface t-shirt,
employed my "least charming
hygiene shortcut,"
(according to my best friend
putting baby powder in your hair
to make it look less greasy
doesn't count as "grooming.")
shoved on my $2 chinatown slippers,
(baby-doll pink, the toe bejeweled
by sequined flowers)
and forced myself, for once,
out of the house on a saturday night.
inspired by rollergirls,
my best friend my roommate and i had bought tickets
to the sf roller derby final smackdown,
as a surprise for a friend's birthday.
you have to understand that i grew up
homeschooled, christian, and overseas...
without a television. the whole "fitting in"
thing has always been a little beyond me.
i still have to study social interaction
with a tediously anthropological eye,
like an eight year old with aspergers.
in any crowd i'm wide-eyed, looking for clues.
roller derby is a sport, and a celebration
of sexy and powerful chicks,
but it is also an impressive exercise
in a certain fine-tuned aesthetic.
the players wore fishnets, fake blood,
and clever jerseys, e.g. "the mathmortician."
the crowd tended toward the dirty
end of the hipster spectrum,
less stella-mccartney-does-macys
and more midnight-breakfast-at-bennington.
the cheerleaders, mostly men with soul patches.
the program, basically a zine.
the beer, pabst.
stir in some aging butch couples
in collapsible forest-green camping chairs,
and some half-time capoeira
and you have the makings of a very
san francisco style.
i wish i could say
i felt right at home.
i didn't.
but i was surpised to find,
i looked the part.
posted by self_invasion | 9:00 PM
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